


'Til the ends of the Earth (I will follow you)

by bythegrace



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Free Verse, Heavy Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:59:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6365761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bythegrace/pseuds/bythegrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She digs her hands deep into the Earth. It is spring in Scotland, and the land, despite its cragginess, is surprisingly fertile. She’s planted beans, tomatoes and eggplants; for the first time in her life embarking on an endeavor without any preparation or research. She had stopped by the general store when she had first moved to the area, back when the ground had still been icy and firm. The woman behind the counter had looked at her askance when she had asked for seeds, but had rummaged through the drawers in the back, finally handing her three packets. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>They had gone into the ground when the ice had thawed, and now there are sprouts. She supposes this is some sort allegory about love and loss and life moving on, but she isn’t ready to think about any of that yet. There isn’t any poetry in the new life she’s sown; but it is a reason to wake up in the morning, to check the plants for growth.</i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fitz doesn't come back from Maveth and is presumed dead. Jemma attempts to survive a life without Fitz; until of course he returns....</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Til the ends of the Earth (I will follow you)

**Author's Note:**

> Canon divergence at 3X10. It's terribly angsty at first but then it gets so treacly that it was almost difficult to write, I hope that doesn't put you off reading it. 
> 
> Title taken from a song by Lord Huron which is beautiful and fits them perfectly.

She’s broken and beaten, black and blue and sore all over. Her heart aches at the thought of Lash and what he did….She clenches her eyes at the thought. No she cannot think of that now, not if she wants to maintain any sense of composure. And she must… _she must_. She can fall apart later she promises herself. She must hold it together for a few moments more.

Because they’re coming back.

Fitz did it, _he did it_. It doesn’t surprise her. After all he’s the single most competent, most brilliant human in the world- maybe in the universe.

But a part of her still can’t believe it, not until she sees Will with her own eyes, not until she holds him in her arms and feels that he’s real, that he’s finally free.

Suddenly that damn containment unit can’t latch quickly enough. Her heart is in her throat as the door opens.

And suddenly, there he is.

Bruised, and beaten looking. Gaunt and worn. She realizes that she’s never seen Will under a bright light before, and he looks almost like a stranger. He’s hurt, or perhaps he isn’t used to the Earth’s gravity quite yet. Either way he’s slung between Mack and Coulson and Jemma can just make out Daisy behind them.

And then, she’s stepping forward and within a moment, her arms are full of him. She laughs, but it’s more a desperate sob of relief. Will can’t really stand, so they fall inelegantly to their knees, and she presses her face against his shoulder, solid and real. She pulls herself away, squeezing his shoulder as she stands. She can’t continue this embrace in front of Fitz, she has to reassure him, she isn’t sure how or in what way, but she just has to. She needs to thank him, to tell him everything.

It’s only when she disentangles herself that she notices the silence, a silence which seems to grow louder by the minute. It’s only when she notices the silence that she really sees Daisy, her eyes swollen and rimmed in red, and the way she mouths Jemma's name in sympathy and pain sends an icicle of fear straight through her heart.

No.

Her eyes fly to Coulson and Good God he’s coming towards her with his hands out, his face drawn, the words ‘I’m so sorry’ oozing out of his every pore. He looks bereft.

That’s when she goes cold.

She hears a woman screaming, screaming in agony, as if her very life is being ripped from her. It isn’t until her face is in her hands and she’s on her knees, rocking and keening that she realizes the voice is her own.

Mack lifts her and he’s saying he’s sorry over and over again. And she can’t even bury her face in his chest, she can’t, she can’t.

This isn’t happening, this isn’t real.  
This isn’t real.  
This isn’t real. But no matter how many times she says it, it doesn’t make it true.

There is nothing but pain until she hears Bobbi’s voice and then a merciful pinch and a burn in her arm, and then the darkness.

________________________________________________________________--

When she wakes, she cries until there’s nothing to do but fall asleep again.

The second time she wakes it is dark and there is no one in the sick bay. She imagines Bobbi is asleep in the adjacent room. Normally she would want answers, want an explanation. If it was anyone else she would want to know why.

But what does it matter, any of it. The answer is Fitz is dead. Any other information is superfluous.

His absence is everything, like a black hole pulling in all the details that swirl around it in. His absence is the vortex of her past, her now, her future.

She can’t cry, she’s reached the point of pain where there are no tears. Where there is just nothing but emptiness. Bobbi finds her like that minutes, maybe hours later. Her eyes red, her mouth a grimace, she hands Jemma some pills and water in silence and brushes back her hair tenderly and then Jemma sleeps.

The next time she wakes Coulson is there and he begins to explain, how he went into the portal first, Fitz and Will just behind him. How he had left an injured, near dead Ward on the planet to die. How he heard the gun shot as he was already falling. How what felt like hours later, he felt Will fall on top of him when he finally landed. He launches further into apologies and explanations but Jemma turns her face away. It doesn’t matter after all, nothing does.

Two days later no one speaks of moving her, but she decides that this is her last day in the sick bay. That she is probably needed in the lab and quite frankly she can’t bear the silence that surrounds her anymore, nor can she tolerate the condolences of her friends.

So when Will comes in and takes a seat next to her, she feels her eyes focus on him like he’s an old memory, a faded picture from long ago. He seems like a friend from another life, her life before. When he takes her hand, he’s warm and solid. He can’t look at her when he tells her that Fitz sacrificed himself to send Will through the portal. Ward had gotten off a final shot at Coulson’s back, hitting Fitz directly in the stomach just as Coulson went through. Will had tried to help him through when the inhuman came at them suddenly and they had both had realized that someone would have to stay back to insure that Inhuman didn’t get through. Fitz had collapsed to the ground and told Will that he was good as dead, telling Will that if he didn’t go through that portal his death would have been in vain.

The confirmation of what Jemma suspected brings her no peace, no closure. The knowledge just echoes in the hollow chamber of her heart. When Will clutches her hand and tells her that Fitz was a great man, who gave up his life so that they could be together. She wants to laugh, she would if she could. But she can’t. She can barely move her mouth.

Her eyes trace Will’s face in silent contemplation. She wasted so much time after returning home anticipating this moment.

Time she could have been in Fitz’s arms, telling him she loved him. They could have been so good together. It was time she could never ever get back.

She marvels at the memory of how tortured she was, Good God she would trade places with that Jemma of old in a minute, in a heartbeat, in a nanosecond.

Now she would never again hear the gorgeous way Fitz said her name. She would never see the fierce blue of his gaze. He was gone. He was gone, gone, gone and as always she was too late.

_Too late._

“Oh Will,” she finally says, “I had thought…I had thought that my heart was split in two between the two of you.” She shakes her head at the absurdity of the thought, “What….what I didn’t realize was that I gave my heart away a decade ago, and it’s stuck up there on that planet you see.” She reaches for his hand, “There is no you and me, because without him, there is no me...I’m just a half of a whole now.” She squeezes his hand as she says this, but doesn’t wait for a response before she turns away from him.

As the days pass and she returns to some semblance of her prior life she expects the anger to come, anger at Coulson or Will or Ward or herself but there’s nothing. Nothing but the vast emptiness that seems to separate her from the world. She’s never felt so alone, even when trapped on that planet.

She pushes herself to make Will comfortable before May takes him home. He sobs his goodbye on her shoulder before he leaves, his gratitude and guilt seemingly impossible to be held back a moment longer. She’s able to rub his back and brush back his hair in response. She waves goodbye as he boards the plane, but then she turns away and doesn’t look back.

She heads straight to Coulson’s office and she places a hard drive on his desk. “It’s everything, all the plans of every device we’ve built, the inventory, the abstracts the techs are working on, everything.” She waits until he pulls the device slowly to himself, “My resignation is also on there,” she finishes. And for the first time since…for the first time she feels something. It’s regret.

“Jemma…” Coulson begins, his voice so soft that it sound like he’s reaching out to a frightened child.

“I’m sorry,” she interrupts, “I’m so, so sorry for not being able to stay,” she says as tears begin to roll down her face, “I’ll stay until you can find someone new.”

“You don’t…”

“I have to,” she nods, “I have to stay, Fitz…he would want me to.”

“Where will you go?” he asks finally.

“He left me a cottage,” she says, amazed that she’s able to say it loud without her voice breaking.

“I see.”

“I will always be here,” she says wiping her face with the backs of her hands, “If you ever need me, for something that they can’t figure out…” she doesn’t finish because she’s enfolded in Coulson’s arms and she’s crying, sobbing into his shoulder as he makes soothing noises and strokes her hair.

“We will always need you and Fitz,” he finally whispers, “but right now we need you to take care of yourself, and you can’t do that here.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She digs her hands deep into the Earth, it is spring in Scotland, and the land, despite its cragginess is surprisingly fertile. She’s planted beans, tomatoes and eggplants, and for the first time in her life she has embarked on an endeavor without the any preparation or research. She had stopped by the general store when she had first moved, when the ground had still been icy and firm. The woman at the general store had looked at her askance when she had asked for seeds, but had rummaged through the drawers in the back, finally handing her three packets.

They had gone into the ground when the ice had thawed, and now there are sprouts. She supposed there is some allegory about love and loss and life moving on, but she isn’t ready to think about any of that yet. There isn’t any poetry in the new life she’s sown, but it is a reason to wake up in the morning, to check the plants for growth.

Her hands are moving the tiniest of the tomatoes to a sunnier spot, when she hears him.

“Jemma.”

It’s nothing, she tells herself firmly. It’s nothing. Just another hallucination or a waking dream.

“Jemma.” The voice is closer now, and firmer.

She rises, because even though it’s not real, she falls for it. She falls for it every time. There is never anyone there, all her hallucinations have always been auditory.

But now he’s here. He’s in a pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt, a canvas bag slung over his shoulder and she can’t quite focus on him or anything because her vision is blurring and she can’t breathe.  
Her hands start to shake, it’s not real. It can’t be.

Like always he seems to read her mind and in three strides he’s before her “I’m real, Jem, I swear it,” he says as he grasps her shaking hands, but then she realizes that she’s been chanting ‘it’s not real’ like an incantation. She looks up at him, at his warm blue gaze. Good God if this is a dream then she prays to just not wake up, to never wake up.

“You’re dead, you died” Her voice is a croak, and she realizes it’s been days since she last spoke.

“Almost,” he whispers, looking at her like she’s the Holy Grail and the fountain of youth, and everything that anyone has ever searched for ever, all rolled up into one.

“How?” she whispers,

“Science?” he says, his mouth quirking into a half smile. “And it turns out it wasn’t a fatal shot after all,” he says pulling up the hem of his shirt to reveal a light pink scar, neatly healed at the edge of his right hip. Her fingers trace the scar and then before she realizes it, she’s touching him everywhere, with her hands and her lips. She crying and kissing him and he’s clutching her tightly to him with one arm while caressing the column of her neck with the other hand. He is whispering incoherent endearments, she catches “My Jem,” and “My darling,” amongst them.

She finally reaches up with both hands, clutching his head between her hands as if it’s the most precious thing in the universe, because to her it is, it truly is.

And then without further preamble she kisses him, and it isn’t like the first time, this isn’t a hard close mouthed press of lips. Now she’s trying to devour him, to fold him into herself, and then he’s lifting her up, both arms wrapped around her.

When he finally pulls back, “Will?” he asks his head motioning towards the house.

And it’s been so long that she even thought of Will, that she can only laugh, because if she doesn’t she’ll start crying and never stop. “He’s back home, his home, I guess,” she says reaching back for him.

He stills her hand, “He didn’t want to stay with you?”

She swats his hand away and launches herself into his arms, clutching his shirt, “I sent him away right after he got here.” When he looks at her with disbelief, she has to stop herself from kissing him again, because he has to hear this, he has to.

“How could you think I’d live happily ever after without you?" she cries, "Fitz, I died that day, I died, when you did, or the best part of me did at least...all the parts of me that I love are entwined with you, I don’t know where you begin and I end.” She links a hand with his, “Saying I love you sounds absurd...you don’t love the air you breath, you need it, you don’t love the water you drink, you need it....Fitz....Fitz you’re one of my essential elements of survival...Even when I was on that planet, I knew you were somewhere safe, that you were ok. If you’re not…if you don’t exist…then I don’t either, not really” When she looks up at him, it seems as if there is a dawning understanding on his face.

So she kisses him again, and this time he doesn’t hold back, kissing her with an abandon she never suspected he was capable of. Suddenly she’s being hoisted up in his arms, and she laughing against his mouth, and he’s cursing that he doesn’t know where he’s going all the while kissing her.

Somehow they make it to the bedroom, and although it’s frantic there’s also a sense of peace, a sense that this isn’t the last time, it’s the first. She can’t stop saying his name, and he can’t stop touching her.

Afterwards she kisses every part of him she can reach while he laughs, apparently more ticklish than she remembers. He’s thinner, but muscled; all sinew and skin from what she imagines was endless manual labor on his part. His hair is buzzed short, the curls gone. She realizes what a beautifully shaped head he has and she tells him so as she rubs her face against his golden chest hair.

He chuckles and she feels it reverberate into her chest as she’s draped across him, and she realizes that this is it, the best moment of her life.

“You know you never told me that there was a bloody sea creature in that pool of water,” he finally says.

The words fall flat, and what he meant as a joke, suddenly causes something in her chest to contract. He was trapped there, just as she was, helpless and afraid. Except no one was looking for him. He was entirely alone. Her heart is too full to speak so she kisses him again, pressing the entirely length of her body against his, wishing suddenly that she could, even if for a moment, fuse herself to him.

Afterwards he sleeps, and Jemma knows it’s probably his first real rest in months. She should get up and fix him something to eat, but she can’t draw herself away, at least not yet.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When he wakes, it’s with a start and a gasp.

He’s alone, and with a certitude born of not having had a working watch for months, he knows he’s slept for hours, maybe a whole day.

He takes a deep breath, and using the calming breathing techniques he learned after the pod, he feels his heart rate finally return to normal, the spots before his eyes fading away. He rubs his hand over the back of his neck, startled once more at the absence of his hair. He had felt so vile after being on that planet that he had scrubbed himself red and raw in his mother’s cottage and finally convinced her to buzz off his hair because he couldn’t seem to get it clean enough.

Thinking of his mum makes him remember the keening noise she had made when she first saw him again, and suddenly it’s too much, too much to feel all at once.

So he rises, and looks for his clothes. He smiles as he sees them tossed haphazardly about the room. He miles at the soreness he feels in muscles he feels like he hasn’t used in years.

When he pads out to the kitchen, there is tea pot with a cozy on it, and there are a stack of pancakes which feel slightly cool to the touch. But Jemma's not here, and he looks through the few other rooms of the house when he spies her coming through the woods, he can’t help but hold up a hand to her foolishly, but she waves back, as if it’s the most brilliant thing he’s ever done.

When they both sit down together he eats fewer pancakes than he thinks he will, his stomach still adjusting to actual food, but over multiple cups of tea he tells her everything. Of shooting the inhuman and watching him burn, of running as fast as his feet could carry him. Of returning to Will’s bunker. Of all his trial and error in getting back to her, he tells her that it was infinitely easier on him than her, because he knew that the way back was not only possible but imminently achievable with the right tools. He tells her of the unspeakable loneliness. He tells her he understood what drove her to Will’s arms. He begs for her forgiveness for never really understanding before.

They can only talk about the shared anguish of the planet for so long before they begin talking about science, which leads to reminiscing about their school days which turns into speculation of the future of SHIELD which circles back to talk of the cottage. Before they realize it, the morning has turned to afternoon, and she silently muses that he has brought not only her, but the tiny house to life. When she tells him this absently, he demands a tour, he wants to see everything. He marvels over each room as if he wasn’t the one who found the place to begin with. When she reminds him of this he grins sheepishly. He tells her that he loves seeing everything through her eyes.

She saves the best for last, the tree swing in the small courtyard outside the bedroom. He settles into it with a contented ‘ah’ as he rests her head on her lap, the dappled afternoon sun warming them despite the slight nip in the air. He turns to face her stomach and places a small kiss at her navel. She leans down and kisses the spot right behind his ear, and whispers that she has something to give him.

When he sits up and roguishly waggles his eyebrows she can’t help but laugh.

“Do you remember what I told you about my grandfather?” she finally asks. It’s such a non-sequitur, that he shakes his head no, while saying “Of course, the first Dr. Simmons.”

“He was the first man I ever really loved I suppose,” she says absently tracing a pattern on his hand, “My father was always gone when I was young….busy with his work. When I was little my grandfather used to hoist me on his shoulders and take me on house calls with him,” she smiles, she feels like she can’t stop smiling. “He loved my grandmother more than anything in the universe I think,” She whispers softly, “I mean of course he loved me and my mum too like mad, but I don’t think I’ve seen a husband love his wife like that.” She pauses to smile at him softly, “Gradmama became ill when I was a teenager…she was confused all the time and when she wasn’t she was angry and irrational and mean. She had dementia and she was just getting worse all the time. But my grandfather….he was the soul of patience, he held her hand and combed her hair and told her she was beautiful and brilliant and that he was still the luckiest…” her voice breaks at the memory. “Anyway, when she died he gave my mum her wedding ring, and she still wears it…and when he died he left his wedding ring to me, with a note to give it to the man who I loved like he loved my grandmother.” At this she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a gold band, worn and infinitely precious. She holds the ring out to him, flat in the palm of her hand.

“Jemma….I can’t take this,” he whispers…”You aren’t…you’ve had a shock…you can’t be sure that.”

She surges forward and captures his lips with her own, “I swear…I swear to God Fitz if you ever…” She says as she clutches his shirt with desperation. “I love you, you bloody idiot. And only you. I’ve ever only been in love with you.” She pulls away, “Do you believe me? Please….you must believe me”

He nods slowly, his eyes dazed with the faintest sheen of tears.

“I dug it up while you were sleeping,” she says softly holding up the ring. “When you died…or I thought you had died…I had no place…there was no where I could go…so I,” She doesn’t realize that silent tears are falling down her cheeks until she feels the pads of his fingers brushing them away. “I buried some of your things…some of our things…I had a marker made…” she looks up at him now, her eyes fierce, “I threw the grave marker in the lake…I would have broken it into a million pieces but it was made of granite” she mumbles to herself, “But I dug the ring up...Don’t you see, I buried the ring because it belonged to you…it always had.” When she finishes she is tugged fiercely into his embrace.

She pulls away laughing, “Wait, wait,” she says as she gently takes his hand into hers, “I have to say the words first…My darling, darling friend, my first and last love, it took realizing that I had lost you forever to make realize that I couldn’t stand spending another moment without you, will you…” she can’t finish because his hand has clamped over her mouth.

“No Jemmy, no, no, no,” he says with an exasperated laugh.

She freezes and pulls his hand off her mouth, her voice high and anguished, “Fitz…do you not…do you not want…”

He senses that she has misinterpreted his actions and before she can break apart completely he is kissing all her doubts away, lowering her back onto the swing, kissing every inch of her face, “You little fool, of course I want to….It’s seems sometimes it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted…I just…I should be the one doing the asking,” he murmurs against her lips before brushing them with his own again.

She pulls away before rolling her eyes at him, “Yes of course because you’ve never had a chance to make a grand gesture of love before,” the sarcasm of her words belied by the softness of her words and the infinitely tender manner with which she strokes his face, “Please Leo, let me.”

And as always he can’t say no. She has always been his weakness, even before he realized he was in love with her. He looks at her like he’s burning her face into his memory, and in a way he is. He sees her at 16, at 20, at 26, with short hair and long, innocent and strong, introspective and tender, furious and vengeful. He sees all the versions of her that he has known, this girl he loves, his other half. The past and present Jemma blur into one, and he marvels at the fact that they are here, miraculously hearty and whole. He nods his head quickly yes in acquiescence. Her smile in response is blinding, like the gem she is glinting in the sun.

And then she's asking the question and he's answering an enthusiastic yes and she’s slipping the ring on his finger. And although half of their bodies are falling off the swing, he’s kissing her and kissing her, the warmth of the sun enfolding them in a perfect embrace.


End file.
